


Matchmaking Misadventures: Skye’s the Limit

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, FitzSimmons is Skye's OTP, FitzSkimmons is my BrOTP, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Matchmaking, POV Skye, Skye questions her decisions, Team Fluff, Trip is her enabler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the team hangs out on the Bus one night, Skye loses a bet to Trip and has to kiss Fitz to make Simmons jealous. This doesn't turn out to be quite the flawless plan they'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaking Misadventures: Skye’s the Limit

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title:
> 
> Attack of the Flirt-Monster: Or, How The Silmarillion and Sexual Tension Lead to Skye both Regretting and Loving Her Life Choices.
> 
>  
> 
> Both subtitles suggested by MK, who helped me brainstorm when I was blanking! (And, of course, edited by her again!)

For a few shining weeks, Skye had been under the impression that she could trust Trip. They’d been building up a rapport, she thought, and even had a couple of inside jokes that made Coulson roll his eyes at briefings. Trip wasn’t the same as the other specialists at SHIELD; he always seemed to be relaxed, whether he actually was or not, and was quick to smile. But then came the day that Skye realized she couldn’t trust Trip at all.

“Time to go through with your side of the bet, Agent,” Trip said, taking a swig of his beer. Skye wasn’t sure how many he’d had, or even how much she’d had after two hours of drinking, but Trip didn’t seem to be feeling it even a little. Today was their first mandatory rest day in weeks, so most of the team was hanging out and drinking on the Bus. Everyone was calm and cheerful, and Skye couldn’t _believe_ she’d let her guard down. 

They’d been chatting while he made her what he swore up and down was the best whiskey sour this side of the equator, and she’d mentioned how annoying it was to watch FitzSimmons refuse to admit their feelings for each other. After a few minutes of spit-balling ways to push the two scientists into action, they’d wandered off into a tangent of debating Tolkien trivia. 

The irony that an ops specialist and a hacker were the only two people on the Bus to have read _The Silmarillion_ was not lost on Skye. Trip’s mother was a huge fan, so he’d been raised into it in a way, and Skye had happened to find the book in a dusty corner of the orphanage when she was far too young to be reading such a lengthy tome. (She read it anyway when no one told her not to.) Despite their common affection for the stories, they disagreed heavily about the origins of Hobbits. Trip was convinced they were an offshoot of the race of Men, but Skye was pretty sure that Hobbits had been created separately, like the Dwarves.

Feeling competitive, Trip suggested that they make this interesting before Skye looked up the answer on her phone. If Trip won, Skye had to kiss Fitz to make Simmons jealous, and if Skye won, Trip would kiss Simmons to make Fitz jealous. It was one of the plans Skye had spun out earlier, and Trip had pointed out that they could just blame it on the alcohol. _Famous last words_. Unfortunately for Skye, Trip had been right ( _how the_ frack _are Hobbits related to Men?_ she’d muttered, never having been a good loser). Since they’d just watched the Brit and the Scot each down a shot, he’d decided now was Skye’s moment to put up or shut up.

“Want another drink before jumping in?” Trip grinned at her from behind the bar and waved a bottle of Bacardi at her.

She glared at him, tossed back the rest of her whiskey sour, and pointed to a currently-empty shot glass.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” She grabbed the shot glass from him and downed it, motioning for him to fill it right back up. Trip obediently refilled the small glass.

“It was your idea.”

“Well, only at first, and I never actually planned on _doing_ it. Now that it’s actually about to happen I’m beginning to realize that this flaw has a few plans.” Trip raised an eyebrow at her as she lifted the shot to her lips. Skye frowned. “Reverse those.” She downed the second shot and grimaced; and to think she’d once believed that her party days were behind her after she’d joined the Bus.

“Okay, like what?”

Skye’s head was feeling a little fuzzy. Either that whiskey sour had been a lot stronger than she’d thought, or those last two shots were doing their jobs really fast. “Like what what?”

Trip chuckled and leaned forward. “What flaws?”

“I actually have to kiss _Fitz_. It’s going to be like making out with a Scottish puppy.” 

“In a cardigan.”

“That can invent three new weapons before breakfast with its eyes closed.” She had the feeling that the analogy had gotten away from her somewhere, but decided fixing it wasn’t worth the effort. “Remind me why I should actually do this instead of just telling you to stuff it.”

“Because I know where you sleep.”

“My bunk has a lock.”

“I can pick locks. And I bet it would take me less than ten minutes to find your porn.”

“I don’t _have_ porn.”

“Okay, ‘erotic novels,’ whatever you want to call them.” He put air quotes around erotic novels, as if to imply that porn is porn, no matter the medium. (And, well, fair play to him there.)

“How do you…” Oh. “ _Simmons_.”

“She may have mentioned it during our last mission.”

Skye turned around and glared at the back of Simmons’ head. Now she knew she couldn’t trust either Trip _or_ Simmons; today was not good for group morale.

Trip nudged her shoulder. “Don’t be mad. She felt pretty badly about it afterwards. Besides, you’re about to kiss the guy she’s almost definitely in love with, so you’ll be even.”

Skye groaned and squinted at Trip, wondering if a staring contest would work. And then she realized that she was really pretty tipsy, and any new ideas she came up with would probably be even more disastrous than this one.

“ _Fine_ ,” she snapped and stood up. Fitz and Simmons were standing only a foot apart and giggling at something sciencey and probably too difficult for Skye to understand even when she was sober. Skye cracked her neck and hopped up and down a couple times. If she could sweet-talk herself into the inner sanctum of one of the world’s most powerful entrepreneurs on her first mission, she could _totally_ pretend to be super drunk and make out with one of her closest friends.

“I’m gonna puke.”

Trip burst out laughing. “Try to at least wait until afterwards.” Skye waffled a little bit longer, thinking that maybe she should suggest a game of spin the bottle, until Trip rolled his eyes and yelled. “Hey, Fitz! Skye’s got a question.” He shoved her unceremoniously forward, making her stumble into one of the common room chairs.

Skye righted herself, adjusted her shirt, and turned around, drawing her finger across her throat in a very-serious-threat. Trip grinned and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Fitz and Simmons were watching their exchange with a vague amount of amusement and concern, respectively. “Are you okay, Skye?” Simmons asked, glancing at Fitz.

“Yeah, I’m _fine_.” Skye grinned and, as conspicuously as possible, leaned on Fitz’s shoulder. “Totes coolio.” Pretending to be drunk was going swimmingly.

Fitz was noticeably uncomfortable with Skye’s closeness, however, and was subtly trying to slide away from her. That was unacceptable, clearly, so Skye wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “ _So_ , how’re you guys enjoying the day off? Good booze, right?”

Simmons, whose face was already tinged pink from drinking, chuckled and glanced at Fitz. “It certainly looks like you’ve been making full use of the bar, Skye.”

“Did you – did you have a question for me?” Fitz had stopped trying to get away from Skye and was instead not moving at all, his every muscle tensed as if he was ready to flee at any second.

“Hmm?” Skye started twirling one of the curls in Fitz’s hair, wondering if he used product to get them so stylishly defined.

“Antoine said you had a question for Fitz,” Simmons offered helpfully.

Skye racked her brain for something to ask Fitz that Simmons wouldn’t also be able to answer. “Right! Yeah, we were talking about the DWARFs, and I wanted to know how you decided on their control mechanism.” It was a good thing that she wasn’t completely drunk, Skye mused, because she had to consciously keep herself from doing a victory fist-pump at coming up with that on the spot.

Fitz brightened at the opportunity to talk about something that didn’t involve Skye standing far too close for either of their normal comfort levels and started talking about needing larger receivers for optimal control. Simmons was smiling like Fitz had just made a bunny appear out of thin air – Skye was this close to just shoving their faces together like she’d done with her borrowed Barbie dolls as a kid. 

She snuck a look behind her to see that Trip was chatting with May (probably about knives or the best way to jump through the window of a moving train). If he had bothered to help this would be going a lot more smoothly. He saw her looking his way and gave her a quick wink before nodding back at her mark.

Fitz had made it into what felt like the tenth minute of his answer and Skye just couldn’t bear the thought of spending any more time listening to him talk about his gadgets in her current mood. So she grabbed his face and planted a solid kiss on his lips. They were slightly chapped but also tasted like hard cider, and it wasn’t actually as awkward as Skye had worried. Fitz didn’t kiss her back, but he also didn’t move away, which she considered a success. Unfortunately, Skye’s back was to Simmons, so she couldn’t see the expression on the target of this particular jealousy-attack.

At that thought, Skye pulled back to survey the damage. Fitz, for his part, was bright red and staring at Skye like she’d grown another head. When Skye turned to Simmons, though, she was surprised to see such a profound amount of pain in the other woman’s eyes. Simmons hid it quickly by taking a long drink from her beer bottle.

Mentally reminding herself that this was really for Simmons’ own good, Skye forced a boisterous laugh. “Guess I didn’t care that much about control mechanisms after all!” She lightly punched Fitz in the arm, and then grimaced at herself. What was she, eight years old? “I’m, uh, gonna go tell Trip about that… with the receiver, thing.” Then she clicked her tongue and made snap-finger-guns before she turned around and headed towards Trip. _Smooth_ , she thought to herself. She should definitely not be allowed to do any kind of matchmaking while drinking, because then things like _snap-finger-guns_ happened and all she wanted to do was go bang her head against the glass surface of the bar.

Luckily May had disappeared, so Skye at least didn’t have to worry about having _that_ conversation. She dug her nails into Trip’s forearm and spoke through gritted teeth. “Was that as painful to watch as it was to experience?”

“The finger guns were a nice touch.”

“Okay, you’re gonna have to do me a solid and strap me into a parachute so that I can jump out of the plane and pretend like this never happened.”

Trip chuckled and glanced up over Skye’s shoulder. “Hey, look.”

Skye swiveled around Trip and peered over his exquisitely-formed bicep. Fitz had just reached over Simmons to grab another drink, but hadn’t moved back away from her once he was holding the bottle. He muttered something to her and then chuckled, clearly trying to lighten the mood. Simmons forced a smile but didn’t lift her eyes from the floor, and then, to Skye’s horror, turned on her heel and disappeared in the direction of her bunk. After watching Simmons leave, Fitz ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled, never once looking over at Skye.

Crossing her arms, Skye glared up at Trip. “Well, that was successful.” Trip rubbed his neck and at least had the grace to look apologetic. Apparently this was going to be a lot more difficult than it had seemed over beer and rum.

 

\------

 

The next morning, Skye sat at one of the tables and dropped an alka-seltzer tablet into a glass of water, watching the white bubbles speed to the surface. She’d lost some of her tolerance since the last time she’d had that much to drink, and her stomach felt like it was shifting uncomfortably from side-to-side, despite the plane’s stillness.

Simmons appeared at the entrance of the common room, saw Skye, half-turned as if she had changed her mind, and then strode stiffly over to the table. The night before may not be the clearest memory Skye had, but she was pretty sure that it was far too early for her to deal with the consequences.

“Skye, I hope you don’t mind if I ask you something of a personal question.”

Skye gave a weak smile and faux-toasted Simmons with her bubbling water glass. “Shoot.”

Simmons took a deep breath. “I was just wondering if you harbored any romantic feelings towards Fitz.”

“Not even a little bit.” Skye didn’t pause for a second. Certain schools of thought (and a number of teen rom-coms) would have insisted that she pretend to be enchanted by the object of Simmons’ affections, but Skye had no desire to risk any of their friendships any further. “I blame the rum. Which I’m definitely throwing out of the plane as soon as we land.” She sipped at the alka-seltzered water and hoped Simmons would believe her.

The other woman’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and Simmons smiled. “Ah, good.”

Skye peered knowingly up at her friend. “Why?”

“Oh, no, no reason.” The adorable Brit was far too chipper, her relief written plainly in every twist of her sweater’s hem. “I think Fitz was rather surprised by it. He’ll be relieved that he has nothing to worry about. I’ve got to – I’m going to do some work in the lab.” She nodded down at Skye and sped off to the staircase.

A shuffle echoed in the corridor behind her, but when Skye turned there wasn’t anyone there, just the sound of the engines’ hum and the last of the bubbles bursting in her water.

 _Well, that’s that_ , Skye mused. It hadn’t been nearly as painful as it could’ve been, and hopefully this would give Simmons the wake up call she needed. Skye was more than done with matchmaking for the rest of the year. And rum. She was definitely done with rum.

 

\-----

 

Much to Skye’s concern, however, Fitz started paying more attention to her in the week after the kiss than he ever had before. She’d dutifully apologized to him and explained that it was really all Trip’s fault. (The bet was okay to explain, she figured, as long as she didn’t say that it was intended to set him up with Simmons.)

Fitz had taken it in stride and promised he would forget about it. But then he’d started bringing her sodas while she worked at her computer, and for all the months they’d been friends she couldn’t remember Fitz _ever_ disturbing his own work to bring anyone other than Simmons something to drink.

At first it was sodas, then he’d ask what she was working on and stand barely a hair’s breath behind her, and then he started laughing at the bad jokes he used to ignore. That was when Skye went into full panic mode and stopped spending time in the lab, wondering if maybe she could just avoid the problem until it went away and body-snatched-Fitz went back to mooning over Simmons like everyone expected.

The morning that Fitz complimented her hair unprompted, Skye finally confessed what was going on to Trip while they trained, trying not to freak out too much. “He’s become a flirt-monster and I’m blaming you.”

Trip glanced through the glass doors to the lab at FitzSimmons before firming up his grip on the punching bag. “Every time he’s done this, it’s been while you were working in the lab, right?”

“Yeah.” She threw a kick towards the top of the bag, and tried (mostly successfully) not to think about the man she used to train with. “Oh, except for this morning, when it was at breakfast.”

“And Simmons was there, at breakfast.” Trip gave Skye a pointed look, and she re-balanced on both feet, lowering her taped fists.

“Simmons…” Skye turned to the lab and caught Fitz staring at Simmons’ back. “Oh, that little – he’s _using_ me! To make Simmons jealous!” Feeling both relieved and simultaneously wrong-footed, Skye swung around and gave a sharp kick to the bag, sending Trip stumbling backwards.

He chuckled and let go of the punching bag, stretching his arms over his head. “I think he’s more perceptive than you give him credit for.”

Skye snorted. “Yeah, only when I help point him in the right direction.” She followed Trip up the metal stairs and shook her head. “I just _really_ hope it doesn’t backfire.”

 

\------

 

Post-training yoga was new, a suggestion from May, but Skye found that it was her favorite part of working out. It also gave her an excuse to take a short nap behind the window-wall at the entrance to the common room without anyone giving her any (affectionate) crap. She was lying behind the barrier on her yoga mat, legs half bent out to the sides in the butterfly pose, mostly asleep, when footsteps and voices came barreling up the staircase.

“Don’t just run away from me Jemma – you’re being ridiculous!” Fitz sounded weary and annoyed, and out of breath, since he was clearly chasing Simmons.

Skye watched the two scientists speed past her into the common room, oblivious to her presence.

“I’m not the one _flirting_ with one of our co-workers at every tiny opportunity given to him! Honestly, Fitz, it’s bordering on harassment at this point, and I’m shocked Skye hasn’t said something.”

Skye toyed with the idea of slinking out to the staircase to give them some privacy. This didn’t sound like an argument that was for public consumption, and they probably wouldn’t thank her for eavesdropping.

Instead, she scooted slowly backwards to the edge of the wall and edged out around it so she could see them. They were definitely too preoccupied to notice her – and, besides, without cable on the Bus, this was the best show she’d get to watch all week.

Fitz had his hand on Simmons’ sleeved arm, which he had likely used to keep her from escaping, but threw both of his hands up after she finished speaking. 

“I’m being _nice_ to one of my good friends – I hardly think that could be considered _harassment_ by any workplace guidelines.” His Scottish lilt was thicker than normal, the words twisting unevenly out of his mouth the more frustrated he got.

“You’ve been acting weird around her ever since last weekend and you know it, Leopold.” 

Skye grimaced, watching Fitz bristle at the use of his full first name. She’d never asked why he didn’t like being called anything other than Fitz, but she assumed that Simmons knew and was now implicitly using it to sharp effect. 

Fitz crossed his arms, mirroring his partner’s already defensive stance. “What, when Skye _kissed_ me?”

“You know perfectly well that’s what I mean.” Simmons shook her long, straight hair out of her face to look defiantly at her best friend, and pulled her sweater more tightly around herself. Skye mused idly that this would be a lot better if she had popcorn at hand.

“Does it bother you?” Fitz’s voice lowered then, down from anger-pitch to something almost genuinely curious.

Simmons didn’t notice the change in his voice, however, and just scoffed. “Yes, it bothered me. It was _completely_ unprofessional, and clearly it’s been messing with both your heads all week.”

He reached out and gently took hold of Simmons’ elbow. “Has it maybe –” he swallowed, his voice now devoid of anger. “– Maybe it’s been messing with your head, too.”

She flashed him a scathing look, but her façade was starting to wilt; Skye noted a pink tinge blooming up her neck. “I already told you it’s been annoying me, what more do you –”

“I sort of got the sense that there might be more to it than that,” Fitz muttered, his words hesitant but his hand never leaving its position on Simmons’ arm. They stared at each other, in that way that Skye found disconcerting in its intensity. Normally they were communicating about something at a meeting, or out in the field, and Skye would glimpse it, that _connection_ she envied so deeply. She didn’t know anyone who could do that outside of the movies and wondered briefly if that was why she was so invested in making these two idiots finally see the light.

“What do you want me to say, Fitz?” Simmons sighed, throwing one arm out in frustration. “We manage to survive all the insanity with Hydra, and you said those... what you did, when we were at the bottom of the ocean, but then _nothing_. You’ve been acting like nothing happened, and then you start making googly eyes at _Skye_ of all people –” (Skye tries not to feel insulted, reminding herself that her ego can take a hit if this conversation is going where she thinks it is.)

“I didn’t –” Fitz swallowed again, and glanced away from Simmons. “I didn’t know what to say, Jemma. I’ve never really had the words.” He chuckled, awkwardly, and looked back at her. “You’ve always been better at that than I have.”

Simmons inhaled sharply, not moving her eyes from Fitz’s face. “You still mean it, then? What you said.”

“Very much.”

Slowly, she raised one hand to his face, and he leaned his cheek against it, as if that small contact was enough for him. Then Simmons stepped forward and pressed her lips to his, using the lapels of his shirt to pull him flush against her. Skye may not have been a part of this particular kiss, but she could tell that it was nothing like the one she’d shared with Fitz a week ago. He was leaning in this time, one hand around Simmons’ waist and the other tangled in her hair.

After just long enough that Skye was beginning to feel genuinely uncomfortable, they separated, both breathing a little heavily, and Fitz leaned his forehead against Simmons’.

“I’ve been wondering what that would be like for months,” he said, smiling softly down at her.

“Only months?” She grinned up at him, toying absently with the top button on his shirt.

“I – well, I didn’t think – you’re my best friend, and I don’t –”

Simmons pressed a gentle kiss to his lips to stop his stuttering. “It was a joke, Fitz.”

He raised a hand to Simmons’ cheek and traced the outline of her jaw. “Oh. Sort of an obtuse one, but, yeah, okay.”

“Oh, be nice to your girlfriend, Fitz.” Both scientists jumped about a foot into the air as Skye slid out of her hiding place and stood up, brushing lint from her exercise spandex.

“Skye!” Fitz’s voice was about two octaves higher than normal, and he raised his hand to his mouth as if that would hide what they’d been doing.

“Have you been there the whole time?!” Simmons blurted out, ever the pragmatic one.

“My totally necessary post-work-out nap was interrupted by two shouting idiots, so, yeah, I’ve been there most of the time.” She hopped over to them and wrapped them both into a big hug; Simmons awkwardly rested her arm over Skye’s but Fitz froze again, stretching his limbs as far away from her as he could get. “Took you long enough,” she muttered, trying to make a joke but mostly failing to hide her excitement and relief.

Skye untangled herself from the two scientists, and grinned when Simmons slipped her hand into Fitz’s. He stared at their entwined fingers, a blushing smile slowly spreading across his face.

“I can’t _wait_ to tell Trip our plan worked,” Skye said, hopping in place.

“Your plan?” Simmons raised an eyebrow and glanced at Fitz, who shrugged. Then Simmons’ eyes widened and she whipped her head back to Skye.

“That bloody kiss – that was your _plan_.” Simmons dropped Fitz’s hand, then, and stepped towards her.

Skye took a few steps backwards, wondering if the toxin-developing biochemist could possibly have any weapons stashed on her person. “It worked, didn’t it?”

She tried to laugh, but Simmons continued moving forward and Skye decided that now was not the time to argue the brilliance of her and Trip’s scheme. She took a flying leap back over one of the chairs, tripped a little, and then kept going, followed rapidly by an unreasonably angry English scientist.

“Skye, get your arse back here at _once_. I cannot believe you would do something like that! Do you know how risky –”

For someone who ostensibly spent most of her life under fluorescent lights and had failed the field test more than once, Simmons was surprisingly speedy, and she almost had Skye by the arm as the younger woman slipped through the cockpit door and slammed it closed behind her. Simmons pounded on the steel to no effect. “ _Skye, let me in there now!_ ”

Skye turned to see May staring back at her, one eyebrow raised. Someday she wanted to ask May how she managed to convey so much with just a few facial muscles, but now was clearly not the time. “We’re playing tag.”

May gave a brief chuckle. “Your matchmaking wasn’t successful, I take it.”

A dozen excuses filtered through Skye’s head before she realized the futility of lying to a professional interrogator. Besides, the constant banging on the door was distracting her from coming up with anything good. “Actually, it was completely successful.”

“So Simmons is upset because…” 

“Seems she doesn’t like being set up.” 

May _mmmm_ ’ed and leaned over to flick a few complicated-looking switches.

“ _You’ve got to come out of there eventually Skye, and remember – I know where you sleep_.” Simmons’ voice was muted but distinct; at last, however, the pounding stopped and Skye thought she heard footsteps leading away from the cockpit.

She glanced over at May. “People seem to threaten me with that a lot.”

After a few seconds of silence, May slid her eyes back over to Skye. “Is your bunk locked now?”

Skye’s eyes widened and she leapt out of her chair, fumbling the door locks and praying to everything that was holy that Simmons had forgotten about the cardboard box Skye kept hidden under her bed.


End file.
